Cursed Man of Badon
by Houyoku
Summary: [One Shot] On the holiday of Saint Elimine is a joyous occassion. People ask repentance and do good deeds, peace engulfs such a gentle environment. But such superstition triggers the near death of a youth. His reputition would not be forgotten.


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Cursed Man of Badon

By Becki ^__^

Fire Emblem (C) Nintendo and Intelligent Systems

*timidly waves* 'Lo ^^; I think I'm going to post a one-shot fanfic in between chapters for Dark Flame or something now, I always get stuck every now and then ^^; I was definitely inspired to write this after the positive feedback I got from _Wildflower of Pherae_, (Thank you all who've given me great reviews, it does so magic to my confidence level ^__^ *gives them all pocky*). This is kinda like a continuation of that story. Only, Rebecca's gone now, sorry ^^; Soooo..... let's get rolling!

~Becki

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Holy Day of Saint Elimine

"Wil! Calm down!" 

"How can I calm down? You practically dragged me all the way out here and now you say you're ready to go?" Furiously in the middle of a bustling street, a young archer stood in the square with a finger pointing accusingly at the burly axe-wielding boy who leaned against the water fountain, dark reddish eyes distinct under frowning eyebrows. "We've been gone for barely a few months!" 

"Wil." His companion said, this time a bit quieter. "Wil."

"What?" Wil brushed his fingers through messy ginger hair, the stress clearly expressed on his face.

"Things aren't working out. We had planned to hire ourselves as mercenaries to get money, but whenever any clients look at us, they just laugh. You saw how it was." 

"It's prejudice against the younger generation, that's what it is." The archer snorted, his hands at his waist in a careless pose. "We'll have to prove that we're better than they think."

"Wil." The boy began again. 

"What is it Dan?!" The archer said, exasperated, voice rising with annoyance. A few people in the crowds of Badon turned and stared at them, only to turn back and continue their socializing. Dan quieted him down with a gentle motion of his hands.

"And when we are hired? One look at us and they know we're just going to be distractions in the front line. It's not going to work out."

"So what are you going to do? Go back to Pherae and apologize to your parents? By now they probably don't care what has happened to you."

"....." Dan clenched his hands. Wil saw the carelessness in his statement and his face changed instantly. He stared at the ground in contemplation.

"..sorry.. I wasn't thinking." He also seemed to be remembering something. "Dan, I don't think I can go back.." He started, a pensive look displayed on his face. Dan sighed and stared into the clear blue sky. The background was quiet suddenly, the murmur of distant conversations slowing. Despite their arguments, the day was clean and brisk. The sun shone valiantly in the clear sky, the seagulls rode the winds and watched the ground greedily and flocked on the cobblestone paths in their eager repasts. Wil looked up and watched Dan's profile as the boy seemed to be thinking of a solution to their problem. 

But being impatient with waiting, he looked around the square. People were dressed in white and gold or yellow. He never noticed at first, but there was a serene, soft picture painted in the town of Badon. He knew this place was home to vicious pirates and bandits, yet nothing amiss had happened. Perhaps it was a holiday of some sort. 

Finally Dan looked up and spoke.

"Wil, do you really wish to continue this..?" He asked uneasily. Wil nodded fervently.

"There's more I can do out there." 

"Fine. Then here's an idea. I'll go back to Pherae. No--don't say anything, hear me first." Wil clamped his mouth shut and listened reluctantly. "A few months later, I'll come back and we can settle what we want to do then." 

The archer stared distantly at the ground, face hard with intense planning. He closed his eyes and sighed gently.

"Fine." Dan offered a hand. Wil took it in his one but flinched as his friend's iron grip secured tightly around his wrist. Taking his hand back and shaking it in the air, he looked back at his companion. "Don't forget your promise." 

"I won't. Don't get into any trouble you old miser." 

"As long as you don't." Wil winked in a friendly, manner and left the square quickly before his friend changed his mind. Dan stood still and looked around before he did as well. There was a salty taste in the air, humid yet welcoming. The sun glared at the back of his neck as he was thinking. The crowds around the square was swelling with excitement. 

The Pirates. Dan raised his gaze as the idea came to him. No.. he wasn't that desperate. Standing up against the fountain, he shook his head and laughed to himself. Home sounded like a better plan to him. He was on a major lack of gold at the moment, and he was in no mood to go hunt and cook for himself. Besides, he was a terrible cook.

Then there was an excuse to make up in front of his parents. His younger sister would lecture him just as much as his mother would, but the worst part would be when Wil's parents wonder where he had gone. Dan grimaced. He was a terrible lier, and he knew it. Upon treading on such thoughts, he made sure his axe had been tightly secured on his back before continuing on. 

Hands in the pocket of his tunic, something made him shudder. There was a sense of nostalgia still lingering in the young man, and his dark gaze swept eagerly all about him. And he, like Wil noticed the tranquility in the town. People minded their own business, gave no attention to him as he passed. He felt out of place in a way, it was a deep contrast from his noisy home in Pherae, especially when it came to his sister.

At the thought of her, he grimaced involuntarily. He could only imagine her trust that he had bruised. 

A shadow flickered overhead, passing his shoulders and flooding down to the stony road. Dan looked up to see the flocks of gulls calling the sea's song. He stopped and listened for a moment. Even as he had lived in Pherae for so long, he had never really seen the ocean. Dan remembered the excitement he and Wil both shared when they entered the city.

Perhaps one last look before his journey home. 

The fishermen had pulled up their nets and kept them to dry in the sun on their boats. The anchored vessels in the harbor seemed to sleep, with no intention of pulling out this day. Ropes tossed and coiled around posts and scattered on the wooden docks. Far above the waters as far as he could see. There was a soft bluish waters blending into the sky where the world ended. 

The air was fresh and crisp. Jumping down the wooden stairs leading farther towards the water, the wood creaked warningly under his boots. Dan waited a few moments, staring into the soft setting. He was ready to return home. Perhaps he could finish those hunting lessons he had promised to share with his sister. A grin evaded his defenses as he remembered the wound he had received in a battle with that wild stag. There was plenty of adventure at home.

Dan turned around and firmly placed a foot in the path traveling back up the dock. 

With an ear-splinting crash, the wood beneath his boots cracked. Caught completely unexpected, Dan let out a cry of alarm before he felt the harsh splinters cutting at his figure. The half rotten wood on the pier fractured and bent, catching the youth under the arms. This was either what saved him or caused the most pain. The wet grain stuck just narrowly from his torso, the dust hurled into the water below. 

The skeleton of wood kept Dan just at the pier's level, preventing him from falling into the water. Cuts grazed all along his legs and arms, and they were stinging painfully. Dan only thought of the water at his feet before he felt a hard blow striking his head and tossing him into the abyss of unconsciousness. 

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The ports of Badon celebrated and enjoyed once again a sacred day of Saint Elimine. Even the pirates respected this custom and did not approach the city. Music fell and rose on the winds, prayers were uttered and people ate sparingly. As a custom for over the decades, no one touched anything unclean, they did not kill nor make contact with blood. It was a custom fond to the people all over Elibe, to respect the holy Lady of the Eight Generals who had won them peace in the times of the Scouring.

This morning was the beginning of joyful events, the people came together to socialize, confess and make merry. 

But even amidst the festivities, they heard the cries on the piers of their beloved harbor. Curious people enjoying their holiday out of work came to search for the source of such ruckus, only to find a young man bloody and unconscious in the pier. But superstition overshadowed good morals. Nobody came down to help the person out of fear in disobeying their customs. They knew that if this man was so unfortunate, he was being punished by the gods.

So, nobody touched him. Nobody spoke of him. Nobody even came close to him.

The day grew late as evening touched the skies with an alert of the coming night. The sun swelled with a dark orange disc just over the horizon as hours had passed with none coming to aid this unfortunate youth. 

In the port, a single ship waited unanchored. A strange ship, obviously under the care of lazy individuals. Scratches and notches flavored the wooden edge of the ship, the sail patched with discolored spots. Some parts on the wood were lighter than the others, bleached in the sunlight through the water. On the edge, someone had carved out with rough hands and shaky handwriting:

"The Davros." 

On board was a tall, brawny man. A dirty cloth tied around his head and hanging on his back. His face was shaved messily, and the creases of age clearly showed on his face. His coat was half open, his dark skin and chest exposed. He stood with some dignity in his posture, as if he was proud to stand on this run-down vessel. This was Fargus, feared leader of the Pirates of Badon. Behind him a sailor called with in a shaky behavior.

"Capt'n!" The man spit into the water before answering.

"Aye? What are the happenings 'ere?" 

"The pier's collapsed. Seems it finally came to its end." The captain drummed his fingers along the edge of the banister.

"That so?" The sailor didn't answer. The captain raised an eyebrow with suspicion. "I don't s'pose that's the only reason you called?"

"Someone's to be trapped there." Another sailor in the crow's nest called down upon hearing their conversation. "There's no way they could've survived.." Fargus held out an enormous palm in an ordering gesture.

"My glass!" Without hesitation one of them handed the looking glass to him. The captain peered through it with an eye closed, stepping back slightly. Guiding the glass down towards the pier, he stared long and hard through it. "Are they all blind, or are they just ignorant and refuse to help the lad?" 

"Capt'n, it is a holiday for Elimine's herd.." The captain lowered the glass and stared at them with an expression impossible to translate.

"Are you lot afraid as well? Are the pirates of the Davros truly afraid of a long deceased memory? Pfaw." He taunted and stood up straight. "Launch a rowboat, I'm going in!" 

The pirates did what they were told, knowing the full stubbornness of their leader. With an unorganized method, they dropped a smaller watercraft onto the waves, tossing the oars in almost carelessly. Fargus randomly selected a few men from his crew to go with him. Settling at the bow of the boat, Fargus turned back towards Badon's pier, muttering something inaudible under his breath. 

As the oars dipped completely out of unison into the waters, the rowboat came toward the collapsed pier. As they approached, the captain could see the young man clearly. His was head tossed behind strong shoulders. There was a deep gash on the top of his head, blood matting with his dark greenish-brown hair. He was bleeding severely, the scarlet flow escaping freely and mixing into the pools of water below. But he was alive. After the long day, his chest was still heaving and gasping for air.

"Right." Fargus said after examining the damage. "Pull 'im over." His mates gave him an appalled look.   
"C-capt'n...?" 

"Do as I said before I carve you some new gizzards! Holy krakens, do I have to make men out of you?!" 

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Sunlight streaked through his eyelids. An unwelcome flutter through a weary face. There was a strong stinging feeling all over when he woke up, and his first reaction was to hold his face. But it was covered in thick bandages that gave an odd scent similar to something strongly fermented. Then pain flooded through his entire body. How did this happen? Searching through the blank files of his mind, he could not remember. 

With a sickening jolt, he realized he did not remember anything.. or anyone. He wanted to sit up, but his limbs would not allow him to. Bandages covered his chest and ankles, and something told him they were wounded too. As he examined his conditions, he saw a large scar on the right side of his stomach, and found himself wondering how he acquired that..

Frustrated with the pain and not being able to remember anything, the young man clenched his hands, wondering where he was and if the people there had anything to do with him.

But then he felt the bed underneath him rock. The entire room seemed to rock. He felt.. sick to his stomach. His eyes were opened to a slit to prevent the light from blinding him, but it was just enough to see around the room.

It was plain, the floors scrubbed clean and the walls blank. He just lay there, the bed the only form of furnishing that existed in this place. Without warning, the door just beyond his reach swung open and more light flooded in. Groaning, he closed his eyes and tried to cover them with a hand, but it wouldn't move. A loud voice stifled the air, crisp yet friendly.

"'Morning t' you." The voice said. The boy opened his eyes only when he heard the door shut. When he did, a large man hovered over his vision. The man's face seemed elderly, face covered with the wisdom of the years, scars torn on the rough skin. He grinned lightly and crossed his arms. "Seems you're a lucky lad. After hours of laying 'ere by yourself, some were doubting that you'd survive."

He wanted to sit up instead of keeping down and having to stare up at this man, obviously the person who must have saved him from.. something.. Lying.. where? Well, since he couldn't move, he decided to talk instead.

"Erm...eh.." He managed, and finally choked out a few words. "Where am I?" 

"Aboard the Davros, the vessel of Captain Fargus and his crew." He trailed of as if he expected the boy to suddenly remark or react some way. However, this just left him more confused than before. The man frowned and his grin fell. "You.. haven't heard of us?"

"....." He blinked, which took less effort than to keep his eyes open. "Er.. no." Then the sailor leaned closer and whispered softly.

"We're pirates." 

"...pirates?" He repeated feebly. He couldn't be.. a pirate.. could he? For being a 'terror of the sea', this man seemed rather friendly. Not knowing what to believe, he tried to search the man's face for any signs of jest.

The old man suddenly burst into laughter, a loud rumbling laughter that almost startled the boy out of the bed. Confused and still stiff, he had no choice but to wait until the laughter subsided.

"After my many years of sailing, I have never seen such a clueless expression from anybody! I like you, boy.." He said, glistening gaze directed on the youth. "I am Fargus. And where're you from, landlubber? Someplace far, I imagine." 

"Actually.." The boy said. "I was hoping you could tell me." The man named Fargus gave a look of surprise, forehead creasing.

".....what's your name?"

"I.. don't know." He confessed. Fargus stood there, expression blank. The nameless youth also grew silent, and waited for perhaps some kind of idea from the man. Finally, the Captain scratched his chin and began to talk quietly.

"Then, I suppose there's no reason to bring you back to port... Doubt they'll welcome you with open arms anyway.." 

"..W-what?" 

"Tell you what, how about you stay with me here with my crew? They may seem thick, but you'll get to know 'em soon enough." 

"I'm going to be.. a cabin boy..?" The rumbling laugh returned with this statement.

"A cabin boy? Sweet mother, there's much you need to learn...." 

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"Dart! You whelp, where'd you run off to?" Quickly without another urge, the sailor came above decks. It had been almost two months after his rescue by Fargus from the pier, and the energetic youth had quickly recovered. He had realized (the hard way..) that he got seasick. After the first week it was torture to him, constantly running up to get fresh air. He gradually got used to the rocking ship, and learned quickly the ways of sailing. When he was taught to fight, as soon as an axe was placed into his hands, it already felt familiar. One of the pirates noted that it was the same axe he had in his possession before the accident.

The youth also quickly earned a name among the pirates. Although he did not really know how he came about in acquiring it, the name 'Dart' caught on rather quickly. It did not take long, also, for him to catch onto the slang of the sailors. Unfortunately as his bond with the pirates grew, so did his foul mouth. But as this personality grew around him, he was still known to be gentle, in in the crew's opinion 'soft'. 

But even though he was new, he did start to accept the fact that the captain would insult him as much as his mates. 

He reported to an impatient Fargus who waited on deck.

"Present, captain!" Dart said quickly, saluting swiftly. Fargus scowled.

"You'll be taking position in the crow's nest."

" 'n our target, captain?"

"A wealthy merchant's ship. Keep an eye out for it." 

"Aye." Without another word, Dart dashed towards the rigging and climbed the mast expertly as if he had done it all his life. Strong grip over thick ropes, he made his way high up the mast. Far off was the town of Badon, busying itself with the daily attentions. Even after his swift and lucky recovery, there was skepticism when it came to Dart. 

Dart had not realized that while pondering these things, he had stopped climbing. His hard gaze was at the soft city in the horizon, distant and quiet. Instinctively his eyes changed as they caught a glimpse of something floating by in the gentle wind. As he leaned forward, eyes slim to get a better view of it, he recognized it almost instantly.

They were petals. The gentle and light petals that danced lingeringly along the waves of the sea. Dipping and rising, falling then ascending once more in its ritual. 

"Dart! What're you gawking at up 'ere?" Dart was startled from his thoughts as the Captain's urging broke his reverie once more. Finishing his ascension to the crow's nest, he brushed his forehead with the back of his hand, the white bandana tight against his cranium. For some reason a cold sweat broke on his skin, something that wished to bring him back to a long lost memory...

The sharp cry of the gull brought him to reality. Dart grinned to himself boyishly, and eyed the birds flocking in the air above. The wind touched his face with a caress, and the boat swayed sleepily beneath him. That salty spray could still be felt even at this altitude, and Dart felt himself at home.

This was his home.

The sea was calling. 

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